


Demon on the Ceiling

by Laur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Gen, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Missing Scene, Post-Apocalypse, Where Crowley can't sleep, can be read as gen or more, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:27:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20017249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: There is a demon on the ceiling.“Oh, dear Lord,” Aziraphale yelps and yellow eyes flash open, glowing eerily in the darkness. “Crowley, for goodness’ sake, what are you doing up there?”Crowley is floating – or lying – with his back against the ceiling. As Aziraphale gawks up at him, he makes a gravity-defying stretch, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can’t sleep.”[It's the first night of the rest of their lives and Crowley doesn't want to sleep alone.]





	Demon on the Ceiling

There is a demon on the ceiling.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Aziraphale yelps and yellow eyes flash open, glowing eerily in the darkness. “Crowley, for goodness’ sake, what are you doing up there?”

Crowley is floating – or lying – with his back against the ceiling. As Aziraphale gawks up at him, he makes a gravity-defying stretch, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can’t sleep.”

The bed, a century-old prop for Aziraphale’s neglected bedroom, is in complete disarray. The sheets are rumpled, the covers kicked to the foot of the bed, and the pillows show signs of violent abuse.

“You checking up on me?” Crowley mumbles.

“I heard thumping.”

“May have been pacing on the wall at one point.”

Aziraphale tuts. “You could have just told me the bed is uncomfortable.” He bends to pick up a deflated pillow from the floor. “Or gone back to your place for that matter.”

“Your bed is fine.” Crowley is still floating like a possessed human in a low-budget horror film. He’s giving Aziraphale a crick in the neck just looking at him.

Aziraphale sits on the edge of the bed, bouncing a little. He’s no expert on such matters, but he thought the new mattress was pleasant enough. Softer than the _ceiling_ , certainly. “Will you come down from there?”

There’s a snap and Crowley is midair, falling from a foot above the bed. The mattress dips and heaves with the impact and Aziraphale twists to face him, taking in his carelessly lounging form. He gets the sense that Crowley isn’t actually relaxed.

“You know, your bedroom is kinda spooky, angel.”

“It is not _spooky_.”

“Is a bit. Your bed is practically made for a monster to live under it. And the walls creak with the wind.”

“I promise that the scariest thing in this room is you,” Aziraphale says drily. “Besides, I thought you liked spooky.”

“But _you_ don’t. No wonder you don’t sleep, with a bedroom like this.”

“Would you like some ear plugs?”

“No,” Crowley says quickly, nearly panicked.

“Well, how do you normally fall asleep?” As a general rule, Aziraphale doesn’t sleep. He’s tried dozing a few times and never saw the appeal. Crowley looks exhausted though, pale and drooping in his black silk pajamas.

In the span of two days, they’ve helped stop the Apocalypse, faced down Satan, and risked their lives to fool Heaven and Hell into not killing them. Hopefully. Who knows if one of their bosses might just decide to try finishing the job. If stress could make Crowley’s hair grey, he’d be bald, and that is _not_ a look he goes in for. He doesn’t need his beauty sleep, but Lord does he want it, just to escape reality for a while.

Crowley turns on his side to lie facing Aziraphale. “Normally I just close my eyes and think happy thoughts. Scaring my plants, stealing candy from babies, that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale decides not to dignify that with a comment. “And then what? You just slip into unconsciousness?” It sounds appalling.

Crowley shrugs. “Pretty much. ’S great.”

They stare at each other, Crowley dog-tired and imploring, Aziraphale at a loss.

“You should try it.” Crowley’s lips quirk like it’s a temptation, and Aziraphale knows what he’s asking for.

He gets off the bed and for a moment Crowley looks crushed before the cool, uncaring mask slips into place. Heart twisting, Aziraphale miracles himself into a nifty night shirt he saw in a shop window back in the 1870’s. He doesn’t own any sleepwear and he’s not about to crawl into bed in his suit. “Budge over, dear.”

Crowley quickly moves to accommodate him, watching with wide eyes as Aziraphale pulls up the covers to engulf them both. Aziraphale lies stiffly on his back and turns his head towards his bedpartner, who does not appear to be breathing.

“Well,” he says testily, for appearances’ sake. “Now what?”

With a start, Crowley comes back to life, blinking once and inhaling. “You gotta relax, Aziraphale.”

He makes a show of squirming into the mattress. “Like this?”

With an exasperated sound, Crowley scoots closer and stills him with a hand on his chest. “You’re hopeless. Just, come here.”

Aziraphale acquiesces, letting Crowley reposition them to his satisfaction. They settle tangled together, Crowley’s head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Much better,” Crowley approves, already sounding close to sleep.

Aziraphale can’t help but agree. Somehow, with Crowley in his arms, their auras blending, the ominous creaks and groans of the bookshop take on a soothing tone. Aziraphale combs fiery hair with his fingers as Crowley gradually sags against him, the warm puffs of breath growing deeper and more even against his collarbone.

Aziraphale is filled with a soul-deep love and security, a feeling he used to only associate with Her. He’s not afraid of this anymore, these things he feels. He’s not afraid of sides, or retribution, or doing the wrong thing. He’s not afraid of giving Crowley reassurance when he’s too stubborn to ask for it.

Aziraphale brushes a kiss against Crowley’s forehead. The demon slips into sleep, blessing the angel with his trust.

**Author's Note:**

> Your comments and kudos mean the world to me!
> 
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